When I wake up in the morning

and wipe the sleep from out my eyes

I sit and stare at four gray walls

and it's such a great surprise

Gee, it's good to be back home . . .  

 

When I walk the line to chow

with a bunch of human cattle

and when I stroll the prison yard

on a field that's made for battle

Man, it's good to be back home . . .  

 

When I look out my cell window

at the land or at the sky

sometimes I wear a smile

or a teardrop in my eye

but it's good to be back home . . .  

 

And when at night when I can't sleep

as I lay  upon my bunk

I think about my life

and feel like a piece of junk

but, it's good to be back home

 

YEAH ! It's good to be back home . . .

Marky

1998


i'm driven by hatred
toward myself first and most
for all i've squandered
making happiness but a ghost
i long to write the words
that scream from me within
words of pain and apologies
yet such sincere words have never been
for my pain is genuine
my anguish beyond measure
as i recall all the hurt
i've brought upon my only treasure
i scream in agony
but my lips silence my cry
as i try to make known
my inner self and why
i wish those dear to me
could feel what alludes me in words
for one look into my heart
would answer all questions
without a sound heard

">Bulldog

1998


ASSWIPE

I found my brain in a downtown gutter
in a sleazy motelroom called prison
I found myself in a dirty spoon
I was drowning so I picked myself up and got loaded
it was a violent love affair between me and myself
but now we are good friends
even though he doesn't know how to wipe his fuckin' ass very well
 

 

we take long walks alone talking about you
and how much we like you
you do not come between us
because you are us -
just like me

 

  we own keys to several different kinds of
straightjackets and we keep them hidden
we herd the sheep into the slaughterhouses to be
accounted for
we are the wolf
we are not ashamed

 

  some rotten beauty grabbed my attention and I left
myself standing in front of a liquor store to get a
better view
I was blinded by the street lights
I stumbled on a broken bottle and I fell face first into
the public restroom toilet bowl
a thousand people defecated on me before I could
get free

 

  I watched this happen to myself
this is the thing that had grabbed my attention before
it had happened

I am shit upon
I am baptized in human waste and now I am saved

I smell like shit

but now I know how to wipe my fuckin' ass

SCRIBBLE

1998


 

 

Here comes the light of darkness

shine down here deep

my hostility is held tight and fed everything

even you are devoured.

used.

abused.

nothing is more important

than the rage I tend and feed.

it is my salvation,

my power.

nothing can stop me when I uncage the beast.

 

BEWARE

I am a beast inside;

 

A GOD

an animal.

I can do no wrong,

victory is just a matter of time

you must know me . . .

SCRIBBLE

1998


 

screw these wordz theyre all just krap
empty sounds my lips flap
and when the world comes to an end
the wordz will die like us my friend
it doesnt matter that i write
it will do no good to end mans plight
but then again it can do no harm and hurt less than a broken arm

so here i sit
tryin to make sense
Amerikas no longer apple pie and picket fence
and you -
do you really have the time to listen to me
& my literary crimes
if so you must be boredor passedout drunk
and if i were on the street
i wouldnt have to be discreet
i could scream it at the top of my lungs but

instead i just write stupid thingz
like this poem. . .

J.B. { Dreamer}

1998


 

the process of adjustment.

the feeling of displacement

- alienation -

PAROLE . . .

so many things to deal with,

somehow keeping from me the comfort of relaxing enough to be myself,

to spend some time with you
to show you what i can
what i will

one day
when the time is right

i think of you.

SCRIBBLE

1997


 

wanting so many things

life, dreams and diamond rings

the road forks another way

laughter has slipped away

filled this empty husk

now reborn and filled with lust

another life, a new page

what's left now is only rage

gone away, now amiss

another face, an empty promise

tall pillars carved in stone

standing tall all alone.

 

MIKE (jackhammer)

1996

 


 

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